Encounterlogs
Vincents Odd Encounter Sr Alexander 240518
In the eerily serene bedroom of Repentance House, Vincent experiences a chilling encounter that sets off an unsettling adventure into the night. An angry spirit possesses him, coercing Vincent to act under its control with threats of violence. Initially bewildered and resistant, Vincent finds himself compelled to search for a weapon, leading him to reluctantly retrieve a steel rapier hidden beneath his bed. The spirit reveals its vengeful purpose, dictating Vincent to commit murder as retribution for its own death. Desperate and afraid, Vincent negotiates with the entity, questioning its motives and abilities, only to suffer intense headaches as a form of punishment for his resistance. Despite the spirit's menacing insistence, Vincent's defiance grows, emboldened by his skepticism of the spirit's power and his unwillingness to become a murderer. Ultimately, Vincent's persistent doubt and vocal objections wear down the spirit's resolve, leading to its abrupt departure and leaving Vincent free but bewildered, standing alone in the street with nothing but his thoughts and a lingering headache.
Meanwhile, in the shadow-strewn alleyways of Haven, Mikhael faces a starkly different threat. A vengeful encounter with Yuri, armed with a quartz dagger, unfolds under the watchful glow of a waxing gibbous moon. Yuri, fueled by hatred and the desire for retribution, confronts Mikhael with a deadly intent mirroring the spirit's vendetta against Vincent. A battle ensues, with Mikhael demonstrating his formidable strength and resilience, even as Yuri's desperate attacks manage to wound him. The confrontation reaches a brutal climax as Mikhael uses his car to immobilize Yuri, ultimately leaving him for his associates to deal with in a grim resolution. Unlike Vincent's confrontation where words and resilience dispelled the danger, Mikhael's encounter is resolved through violence and the promise of a bloody reprisal, highlighting the varied ways in which individuals confront and overcome the darkness that seeks them out in the night.
(Vincent's odd encounter(SRAlexander):SRAlexander)
[Fri May 17 2024]
In the prettily-decorated fourthbedroom of Repentance House
Uniform in size with its counterparts, this bedroom is an oasis of calm, where azure blue and white dominate the decor. The walls, a soft white, are brought to life by accolades and photographs of scholar achievements. A window trimmed in azure blue drapes allows for a view that, while unremarkable, is suffused with daylight that accentuates the crisp, white bedding of the full-sized bed against the far wall.
The bed itself is an embodient of understated elegance, its whinte linens pristine and smooth, detailed with delicate azure embroidery that echoes the house's colors. Above it, white fairy lights offer a subtle luminescence, casting a soft academic glow over the adjacent study nook. Here, a white desk stands, organized with academic texts and a sophisticated computer setup for heavy coding and gaming.
It is night, about 66F(18C) degrees, There is a waxing gibbous moon.
(Your target is possessed by an angry spirit that is forcing them to act out and putting themselves and/or others at risk. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
There is a chill in the air tonight. Despite the summer heat, there is a noticable drop in temperature this evening. Almost pleasantly so. As Vincent was discussing with his friend about the finer points, something has come to Vincent, a quiet tickle down his spine, and an unsettling sensation in the back of his head.
From his bundle of blankets while sitting on the bed Vincent shivers ever slighy as he pulls the blankets closer to him as he discusses the gossip while rubbing his hands together under the coverings. "Who turned on the conditioner this much." The blonde complains as he shivers slightly before sliding over to the edge of the bed to stake a stand.
Vincent says "Doesn't feel cold... huh."
And as Vincent stands he finds himself abruptly walking to the door, opening it, and stepping into the hall. It's strange. But...wait. No. Not this is perfectly alright, and natural. The hallway extends and he sees the stairway down. Obviously, he begins to walk towards it, right?
Vincent feels a prickling icy sensation on the back of his mind as some force begins manipulating his reasoning.
With blinking eyes Vincent looks where is standing. "Huh." Vincent says in a mummer before shacking his head as he stands in the hallway. "I.. am going to check if someone.. as turned up the air conditioner." The teen says more to himself.. even if that contradicts his comment before... to explain away the reason he moved towards the hall, as he looks to the stairway and nods his head as he makes his way with the blanket warped around him making a tail on the flor as he heads towards the stairway shivering ever slightly.
With slow steady steps Vincent hazily finds himself moving down the hallway with the blanket around him. The presence becomes more perceptible as the grip increases. Less, does Vincent feel like he is simply being direct and more, he finds his limbs being moved independantly, towards his own room.
Closing his eyes for perhaps just a moment Vincent then opens them, to see his door blinking slightly in confusion at wooden door as he tugs at the blankets closer to his body shivering slightly as turn his head slightly to look behind him, before turning to place a hand on the door knob to enter his him.
Closing his eyes for perhaps just a moment Vincent then opens them, to see his door blinking slightly in confusion at wooden door as he tugs at the blankets closer to his body, shivering slightly as turn his head slightly to look behind him, before turning to place a hand on the door knob to enter his room. (fixed)
Vincent begins to move into his room. He begins to look to rifle through his belongings, his shelf. He's looking for something, he's not sure what. "What is your weapon?" a voice booms within his head. Indistinct, deafening nearly.
With a slight jump Vincent scans his room in a hurry, the blanket falling to the floor as he glances at the door. "Oh.. god it's like the little girl all over again." He hisses his teeth tightly pressed together as he drags a bag from under his bed. "This is where I left it." He sighs in relief as he grabs the hilt of the steel rapier
"Oh good," The voice seems pleased and some of the tensions in Vincent's body relaxes. "I have someone I am going to have you murder, comply and we'll be done soon," it informs him matter-of-factly. No longer as booming within his skull.
Vincent looks around the room pointing his rapier around. "Who the hell are you and why are you in my room." He says in his posh accent, attempting to put on his best war face, not very intimidating but attempts to be as he does a little swish in the air.
Vincent finds himself taking a step. "Irrelevant, move, and do not fight me. Go to the main road." It insists, a pain in his skull beginning to throb some
Scanning around the room as if expecting any moment for someone to jump out from a wall, Vincent then speaks aloud, "Am familiar with this supernatural stuff now, your using.. mind magic on me.. that makes sense.. yes." Vincent nods to himself, as he slowly routes around the room sword out, standing in the center his knuckles white betraying his fear, as he clutches his head with his free hand from the pain. "Ugh-h." He says in the wince of pain. "W-Why would I do that!" He says placing perhaps an over touch defiance in his tone to mask other emotions.
There's a brief pause. Then the throbbing pain redoubles. "Because, if you refuse me, I'll cause one of the veins in your brain to burst, causing you to bleed out in about a minute!" It roars, a bellowing voice. "Now move! Kill him! Or die! And I'll make someone else do it!" The voice insists to Vincent.
Vincent almost fall down, catching himself as he stands up though a bit wobbly on his feet as while hugging his head with both hands. "Fine-Fine." The blonde responds seemly that threat working quite effectively as he makes his way in something between jogging and a run to leave the college and head into the main road. "Why.. do.. you.. want.. me.. to.. kill.. someone." Vincent says between breaths as he makes his way towards the road.
"Because they've got it comin'. Fucker shot me," the ghost explains. "So now I want him to get his, got it?" The voice insists as he begins to make his way willingly the power receeds some, leaving his body more under his own control.
Vincent runs a hand though his hair groaning slightly as he moves across the campus with a sword, hopefully it's a slow night. "Who.. and who are you.. and why are you speaking in my head.. and what kind of magic are you using to control me?" Vincent asks one after another before then pausing and speaking again. "-wait.. I have never killed anyone.. am not a murder." Vincent says while seemly slowing down some, perhaps to buy himself more time?
"Well you have no choice, I am controlling you," the voice insists as Vincent feels a prickling in his brain and a compulsion to pick up his pace. "So, it's not your falt."
"Oh.. this is some type of supernatural assassinations using some poor sob with mind magic." Vincent says aloud seemly convinced of that idea as he /attempts/ to fight compulsion still heading towards the road though. "They shot you... where are you?" He asks.
Vincent finds himself...able to slow the motion of his body and even fight, the throbbing returns, intense, and painful. "How -dare- you!" The voice insists, fury growing.
Vincent groans slightly as he uses both hands to warp around his head. "How /dare/ you." Vincent says back to the ghost. "My body, my choice, ever heard of that you mind control whatever you are.. -excrement- whatever!" Vincent decides to insult as he stumbles towards the road.
Vincent finds as he fights, as the pain increases it reaches a peak and then...begins to receed. "Enough! Enough! Stop! Or I will kill you!" The voice insists to Vincent. "I'll boil your eyes out!" It bellows.
"Who are you and why are you in my head!" Vincent demands as he shakes his head likely almost out of the collage at this point surely, as he walks evenly. "Wait.. how am I going to walk pass the sheriffs office with a sword in my hand.. genius." Vincent scowls in a hissing low tone. "Am moving-am moving..." replies to the eye boiling threat.
The sensation controlling Vincent's limbs all but fades now. "Good!" The voice echoes. It sounds tinny, echoey. Perhaps quieter? To reward Vincent for his good behavior? "You will move quickly," it advises.
"You have yet to answer me.. wait.. you said someone shot you.. and I have a rapier..." Vincent grumbles aloud, as he scans the corner ducking as he moves close to the wall, and below the windows of the sheriff office near the college entrance as he shifts forward while attempting to stay out of view. "Wait.. voice in my head.. that can control body.. who says they have been shot..." Vincent mummers seemly some puzzle being solved in that mummer.
"I don't care how you fucking kill him!" The voice commands. "The sword is fine! Go fucking stab him!" It bellows.
Vincent now at the main road he shakes his head. "Well... so your a ghost.. I was also warned about this possibility.. can you even do any of those things?" He questions aloud.
"Excuse me? You want me to prove that I can kill you!?" It demands in a loud booming voice, though, softer now. "Of course, I am in your mind! I control all!" it insists.
"Well.. no.. their is no need of that." Vincent grumbles softly. "Though are you making threats you can't really prove.. and if you did who would kill them then huh?" Vincent then insists in turn. "Why are you not some normal ghost and haunt them?" The blonde says in a irate tone as he just stands their in the roadway, not really knowing where to go from their anyways, unless the ghost is leading?
Vincent receives a joly of pain in his brain. The impulse leads him through the streets if he obeys it, winding slowly. "I want this fool to receive his death at the hands of another!" The voice insists.
"I don't want to be a murderer!" Vincent cries out in protest as he groans in pain as he move along the street yelling loudly and brandishing a sword in the streets. "Can you pick someone else?"
Vincent might have realized that...the pain seems to be growing less some time. "Oh, you'd rather make someone else do my dirty work? Perhaps a child then!" The voice cajoles him.
Vincent then stops suddenly as he rubs his head. "I am doubting your powers are more then beyond giving a headache... can you even exit me.. bet your too weak to do that as well.. I bet the wind pushed you to the college somehow.. I don't know how ghosts work." The blonde says aloud squinting as he looks around where he currently is, seemly to figure out where he is headed towards. "Maybe the hangovers with those bowl of mist is proving helpful.. nothing could be worse then that." Vincent mummers aloud to himself.
The spirits roars in fury. At the rebuke he finds the presence suddenly...vanish! Hm! Perhaps it was his sharp will, the y oung mans steely resolve! Or...perhaps his slow meandering complaints finally wore down the spirits....spirit? Well, suffice to say, this hero has defeated this dangerous ghost through a series of malicious compliances! And finds himself suddenly, freed. Though a lingering headache is a scar of his adventures.
Vincent rubs his head after.. whining, complaining, and just being a pain to whatever thing that possessed his body, away perhaps, who knows. "Really... am in middle of the street with a sword in my hand after running though town talking to myself." Vincent groans aloud as he runs a hand though his hair. "I hate the states, and this town, and this collage." Vincent decides to complain to no one as he rubs his head. "I need a drink."
(Your target is attacked by a lone vigilante, maybe someone they've wronged in the past or someone just out to get all supernaturals. They need to defeat their enemy or survive for long enough that their allies can come help them.
)
The waxing moon lights up the night sky, glowing over the sleepy or not so sleepy town of Haven. A cloud drifts over the pale orb as a lone wolf's howl echos through the early hours of the morning. A lonely cry, it hangs in the air, unanswered, unreturned. The clouds bring darkness to the lonely town. The alleys are darker without the guidance of the lunar caress. The shadows deeper. The night colder.
In the shadows, deep within an alley in the middle of Haven, two pairs of sinister eyes meet each others. One pair scared with a cut directly across the eye. Ice blue eyes stare out from over balaclava. They belong to a man whose body was built like an fighter. Honed by time spent at the gym. Jailhouse tattoos cover the pair of arms exposed by a single kevlar vest. The pair that meets his is brown. Bland. The eyes of someone who didn't really want to be there but forced to perhaps due to honor... or due to threats. There are quiet... hushed whispers in the night.
"Are ya sure *he's* here?" Brown eyes wanted to know. He was dressed all black with a wiry body that belonged to someone that belonged more behind a desk then behind the pistol he was loading at that moment.
"We got some pretty good intel that he's here. Injured. All helpless like." The blue eyed man's voice is more gruff, harsh, filled with hatred and anger.
"Well..." The safety clicks as brown eyes checks the chamber before handing the pistol over to the blue eyed man. "He's all yours. I'm just here to provide equipment man. And intel. I'll let you know if I see him on the cameras." Nods are exchanged as brown eyes slinks off into the night.
"Let the hunt begin..." Blue eyes whispers into the night.
Beneath the waxing gibbous moon hanging overhead, just off to the side between the buildings flanking the near-decrepit state of the trash-ridden alleyway, Mikhael hands one hand in his pocket, and his jacket slung over his shoulder. His other hand is illuminated by the light of his cigarette, the smoke and glow trailing along his passing. The silence, in this hour of the night, is broken by that wolf howl - and the hiss of a cat at his back that topples over a garbage bin. Metal rolls with a clunk, but Mikhael doesn't spare it a look, neither over his shoulder nor ahead. His attention is upon his cigarette, another drag, while he moves down the alley that has led him outside of his partment complex.
Far off down the long expanse of the alley is his trusty steed - the porsche that stands imposingly, starkly out of place in the sodden nature of its surroundings. He doesn't quite reach it, not yet. There is a pause to his body, something that knits his brows above the aviator he wears at the wrongest hour of the night when darkness still reigns supreme. Maybe it is his instincts, trained and honed over decades of war - maybe it is something else that raises the hair at the nape of his neck on end, but something feels amiss, he just can't tell what while he casts his gaze forward, and doesn't take another step. Instead, his smoke is sought after - taken from between his lips, tossed onto the floor in casual nonchalance, stepped on to snuff it out while his other hand leaves shis spocket to take the suit jacket draped over his shoulder and hold it. As if he stopped just to extinguish needless poison before he traversed the remaining distance to his vehicle, and nothing more, while he waits.
A shadow grows long at the other side of the alley, splitting away from the wall as Mikhael lowers his jacket. "Well well well.. If it ain't the barghast..." Blue eye's accent is thick with a russian accen tang and a lip curls as the man walks out of the darkness of a recess in the walls. The scar across his left eye is prominant, deep. It carves down his cheek and up to his temple. Muscles ripple on arms designed to fight more physical opponents but it has no trouble holding the pistol, muzzle lengthened by a silencer by his side. "Remember me?" The man snarls, jerking the thumb of his free hand across the scar on his eye. "I heard ya a cripple now. Nothing but a corpse that doesn't know he's dead yet." The man spits on the ground on the other side of the porche. The poor innocent car standing between the two men.
Perhaps Mikhael didn't expect to hear that moniker here. Not yet, anyway, not before it had a chance to spread by word of mouth. Yet, while he keeps his head low, his eyes angle upward over his sunglasses to peer forward at the voice calling for him at his behest. Brief bit of red flashed, nothing more, veiled - but he's not moving beyond drawing his leg back, roll the cigarette upon the pavement as crushed as it is. The initial reply is a broken, russian insult speared under his breath while that shaded gaze drifts towards the pistol his sudden adversary holds, and his head tilts for it. Just slightly askew.
"Yeah, I remember you." Whatever recognition there may be, it isn't in his expression, but he elaborates. "I guess its hard to put down a cockroach - we must be of a similar breed. " The notion of being dead, however, has him smirk. It's too wide, too pristine as he takes a step forward, then another, a slow canter leading him forward down the allley while he swings his jacket back up over his shoulder with the raw confidence of a man that has a gun pointed at them. "How's your family, Yuri? Does your brother still walk with a limp?"
A snarl is the response he gets to his taunt. Ice blue eyes stare at him from a face filled with an expression of hatred. The man's teeth are crooked and his lips are drawn back in a snarl. "My brother is waiting for your head to land on his plate." He spits again, "He said you can't even kill him right." His eyes swing to the car still situated between them. The gun lifts, muzzle pointed towards the shiny porche. "I should shoot your toy full of holes. But that wouldn't be as satisfying when I take the keys from your dead body and drive out of this shitholl with your head in the boot."
His thick combat boots crunch on the trash on the ground as he takes a step forward too, pointing the nose of the gun straight at Mikhael. "Not another step closer gunho." He sneers, spit flying in goblets from his spat words. "I wanna be able to watch your eyes when you crumble to the ground."
In spite of the snarl, Mikhael hadn't stopped. No, the taunt only elevated his mood, something to the air, the promise of violence lends a subdued elegance to his expression, those near perfect, sculptued features warped in a keenly disturbing, muted pleasure evident in only the small haunt of a smile at the edge of his lips. It is sick, twisted, yet contained as if to impose as much fury in his adversary as he inhumanely could while he speaks to interrupt -- but pauses. His parted lips are silent, so is his trajectory towards the car halted at Yuri's gun now being directed at it.
"You want what's mine?"
A total absence of mirth, amusement, and all things together while his head tilts slowly, uncannily. He's not just a mere man walking down the desolate alleyway here, he is a creature of it, in that very moment. Just as wicked as every insect that crawls in its deep recesses. Against the threat, he takes but one step forward -- and disappears entirely from view like he was never even there. All the remnants of his existence is a distraught scent of ash, sulphur and fire as if something just claimed from hell erupted there in a wisp of shadowy mist.
Not even a single breath later, poor, downtrodden Yuri would find Mikhael at his back - his hand seeking the back of his neck, grab with vicious vigor and cruel intent, with a disturbingly vice-like grip that is beyond the measure of any mortal, and even the scope of many creatures of the night. He leads the man exactly to that porsche, straight down the front above the headlights and stain them with blood.
"F-fucker!" The angry shout fills the air as Mikhael just vanishes into thin air and another angry growl sounds as Mikhael grabs the back of the kelvar vest and brings the man's head down straight into the front of the porche. There is the dull clunk of metal as it dents the poor car, staining it with a dripple of blood that looks black in the night.
Another cloud drifts over the moon then as the man's angry breathing is heard just for a single moment before he aims the gun around his side, trying to shoot the demon that had spawned behind him.
The shot rings out immediately. It bites Mikhael in the shoulder, maybe several times across his torso, but the bullet, even bullets are gone - it doesn't come out the other side while all he does is keep the man pressed down against his own stain of blood against the car. One of his leg lifts, shoe pressed above the tire just so he can lean down as streams of red run down across his torso, the white-clad button-up stained a dark shade of red, one that looks just a black under the darkness of the alley where the rising sun to the east is far from reaching here. The jacket slung over his arm is discarded over the car as well, and instead, Mikhael reaches up to his face. His aviators are pulled low, off of his face and tossed aside to bask Yuri in that viciously crimson, blood-red gaze of a monster. "Yuri, I'm going to break your legs before I kill you." He doesn't stop. The dread is thick in the air as he continues to whiper beside the man's ear. "Just so in your last breath your face will look in agony - just so I can mail that expression in a gift box to your family."
Emboldened by the scent of blood in the air, Yuri empties the entire clip wildly, catching another bullet that streaks across Mikhael's side, adding to the holes in the white shirt that is soon to become a crimson visage as the man's blood soaks into the cotton. Nostrils flare as Mikhael delivers his threats and a big, hulking hand throws down the gun to wrap around his wrist. Tattoos cover each finger, spelling out a word about as original as the rest of the man's tattoos. D-E-A-T-H. One letter on each knuckle as his hand closes on Mikhael's wrist and holds on. It looks as if he is trying to dislodge the hand holding the back of his neck but instead there is a howl of anger as Yuri stabs backwards with his other hand - a long dagger made of a gleaming white material - quartz - is clutched in his hand and he clings onto Mikhael's wrist with his other hand, trying to prevent the man from moving away from him.
Distracted, momentarily, by the blood streaming off of him as well as the toss of the gun, Mikhael stares aside at it long enough that his attention lags until his wrist is caught. He stares at the hand like its a minute obstacle, but the sight of something else, the quartz dagger, has him rear away instantly as if burned before the man even touched him. His arm is liberated instantly with that massive strength yanking Yuri off the car and onto the floor on his back as he takes a few steps away, pacing way from him to avoid the one source of every possible ailment. "Yuri, fuck." Exasperated, instantly, he hisses his words. "You don't know what the fuck you're doing, drop that thing right *now*."
Yuri cracks a laugh, a broken laugh that fills the alleyway even as the big man lies on the ground. There is a tear on his forehead where it met the car... but something metallic glints from the wound around the blood. A metal plate installed after his eye was almost gauged out by Mikhael all those many years ago. "So.... The rumours are true." There is a cruel twist to the man's mouth as he turns over on the ground and slowly, painfully gets to his feet. Blood drips down his face, covering half of it in crimson as those hateful ice blue eyes stare out at Mikhael. "Who woulda thought. The barghast would be afraid of crystals?" He laughs, a full on belly laugh that fills the alley even as he raises his other hand to wipe some blood from a split lip. "You want your fortune read? I can do that." His fist tightens on the quartz, blade down so that he can swing it. "I hear quartz is good for refuckingjuventation and revenge." His eyes gleam before he takes a step forward, feinting a swing.
While Yuri gets to his feet, Mikhael takes a moment to compose himself. An inward breath is sighed out, somewhat harshly, but the effects are imminent. His body heals itself, whatever it can, albeit clearly not perfectly. Bullets pop out of the holes in his shirt, clatter to the floor while there is little shift or change in his posture, if only slight exertion that weighs down his gaze. "I'm not-" He has little opportunity to interject the man's monologue, and his approach is met with apprehension. A keen stare of red that trails from the blade, up to Yuri's eyes again while he approaches, and swings..
He turns on a heel, pivots where he is to lean away from the feint.
While Yuri gets to his feet, Mikhael takes a moment to compose himself. An inward breath is sighed out, somewhat harshly, but the effects are imminent. His body heals itself, whatever it can, albeit clearly not perfectly. Bullets pop out of the holes in his shirt, clatter to the floor while there is little shift or change in his posture, if only slight exertion that weighs down his gaze. "I'm not-" He has little opportunity to interject the man's monologue, and his approach is met with apprehension. A keen stare of red that trails from the blade, up to Yuri's eyes again while he approaches, and swings.. And alll Mikhael can do is turn on a heel, pivot where he is and lean away from the feint - a mistake, if there ever was one, judgement clouded by the sight of that long, sharp line of crystal. (fix)
Crooked teeth shows in a sneer as at the change in demenor of the other man at the sight of just a innocent little piece of crystal. Mayhaps he was scared of his fortune being told? Who knows. Victory shines in the ice blue eyes as Yuri goes in for the offensive as Mikhael overbalanced to lean away from his feint. He snarls as he lifts a hand - take a swing at the man's head while bringing the dagger up in a low swing towards Mikhael's stomach.
The lone wolf howls again, it's lonely call echoing through the night as the first rays of the sun reach the still sleepy town.
Had it been anywhere else, maybe Mikhael would've been slower to react. He isn't, not when he aims that thing exactly to his stomach. He's made a poor decision, sure, but it doesn't cloud his actions further than that initial thing. Mistake doesn't breed more, in this instance. His knee shoots up beneath the swing of the dagger, where his focus has always been, to hit it and adjust its trajectory. Send it higher to meet his hand that comes from the side to capture the wrist holding it - while he takes the full brunt of that strike to his head. It tilts his head, but it returns quickly, gaze leveled and peering upon Yuri, followed by a short eruption of a growl from his throat, stifled while he puts his whole strength, unrestrained, upon the wrist he's caught to twist and break it.
The wolf's howl is returned by the howl of pain as a loud crack echos in the deserted alleyway as Yuri's wrist breaks. The dagger is dropped, clattering to the ground between the two men's feet. "Fuuuuuuuckkkk you!!" Yuri screams as his hand is held in Mikhael's in that awkward position that puts strain on the rest of his shoulder. His left arm swings again, smashing into Mikhael's face almost futilely as if hitting a wall. "I am going to shove that dagger up your ass you asshole!!!" His voice rises in a howl from the pain as he tries to wrench his arm away from Mikhael.
As Mikhael keeps that arm, keeps applying the pressure, his other hand lifts just as Yuri's arm swings again. He catches that too by the wrist, turns and twists for the same effect of a horrendous crack. "You stupid, fucking bastard." The still exasperated hiss is a modicum more relieved that the dagger is gone, now, dropped down on the ground between them. He takes a step, presses the heel of his shoe over it - and since his assailant is out of arms, he releases Yuri with a shove that's intent on sending him down upon the ground on his back. "Do you have *any* idea what you're doing, waving that fucking thing around?"
Another crack. Another howl that fills the alleyway with anguish. Suffering that brings Mikhael no ends of pleasure and lifts his mood like nothing else. Nothing better than an early morning snack of the most delicious suffering a man could ungo. The russian thug is thrown away like discarded scraps onto the floor of the alley, his face sliding along the gravel, the cigerette butt that Mikhael discarded early tangling in the man's brown hair. "I'm here to fucking kill you!" Is still the howl from the floor as the man scrambles away, crawling with the power of his legs against the ground. "It clearly fucking works. I have a man, with one of those tips on the head of an arrow trained on you right now!" A bluff? Or was it? It's hard to tell as pathetic whimpers fill the alleyway from the man trying desperately to wriggle away.
"Do you now?" Mikhael fixes his attire a little. A short is given while he stares at Yuri crawl away. His hand runs through his hair to brush disarrayed strands back in order, out of his gaze. "Alright." And he does something extremely, incredibly reasonable. He turns to his car, opens the driver's door, and slips in to shut it with a bang. Past the black-tinted windows, it isn't clear what he intends to do, but the engine purrs alive not long after, and he beginss to pull out of the alley.
Not for very long, though. The wheels turn, shift his direction, and he starts to very slowly drive forward once more - straight onto Yuri's legs where the running vehicle stops as soon as the wheels exert their weight onto the legs, and continue to do so with the handbrake pulled up. When the window cracks, just a little, just enough, his voice comes through it. "You have until you bleed out to tell me where."
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!!!" The cries of frustration fill the alleyway as Mikhael gets into his car and there is a sortof desperation in the air as someone uses his elbows and his knees to crawl backwards while keeping an eye on the rumbling porche. Clearly have a face sized dent on the hood doesn't impact the way the machine runs as with a hungry growl of the engine Mikhael crushes the man's leg underneath it. Suffering fills the alleyway. Fills the city really, giving all those sensitive to it a early shot of morning caffeine. "Fuck you Bharghast!!" Is the last howl as Yuri manages to crawl all the way back to where is gun was. Shakey hands reload as the man's blood spill onto the street, crushed by the 2 ton vehicle and a bullet splinters the windscreen. "You get to fucking die with me!" Is the last howl as shots reign from the front of the car where he lay.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!!!" The cries of frustration fill the alleyway as Mikhael gets into his car and there is a sortof desperation in the air as Yuri uses his elbows and his knees to crawl backwards while keeping an eye on the rumbling porche. Clearly have a face sized dent on the hood doesn't impact the way the machine runs as with a hungry growl of the engine Mikhael crushes the man's leg underneath it. Suffering fills the alleyway. Fills the city really, giving all those sensitive to it a early shot of morning caffeine. "Fuck you Bharghast!!" Is the last howl as Yuri manages to crawl all the way back to where is gun was. Shakey hands reload as the man's blood spill onto the street, crushed by the 2 ton vehicle and a bullet splinters the windscreen. "You get to fucking die with me!" Is the last howl as shots reign from the front of the car where he lay.
If Mikhael is at all composed, it has to be because of the pain. Still, steel nerves disallow any rapture, and he avoids sinking into the depths of it with control and composure. Even if he entertains the scent of it in the air like fine wine. The bullets ringing out through the windshield has Mikhael shift the stick again and pull back, off those broken, crushed legs and a few paces ahead further into the alleyway while his hand reaches into his pocket in search of his phone. Barely a few presses, barely any wait, and someone picks up on the other side. "Stop what you're doing, there is someone I want you to collect." A few words, buzzed under the din of all that noise outside, the screams and the suffering-laced agony, replies in the affirmative. "There. Yes. Yuri." He continues to sparsely explain, but it is evident that he's talking to an underling or another. "Keep him out of town for a few days - then package him neatly. You know who to send his head." Past his words, a few words of Russian exchanged in farewell, he shuts the phone, prepared to take off, and leave poor Yuri to his fate.
Meanwhile, in the shadow-strewn alleyways of Haven, Mikhael faces a starkly different threat. A vengeful encounter with Yuri, armed with a quartz dagger, unfolds under the watchful glow of a waxing gibbous moon. Yuri, fueled by hatred and the desire for retribution, confronts Mikhael with a deadly intent mirroring the spirit's vendetta against Vincent. A battle ensues, with Mikhael demonstrating his formidable strength and resilience, even as Yuri's desperate attacks manage to wound him. The confrontation reaches a brutal climax as Mikhael uses his car to immobilize Yuri, ultimately leaving him for his associates to deal with in a grim resolution. Unlike Vincent's confrontation where words and resilience dispelled the danger, Mikhael's encounter is resolved through violence and the promise of a bloody reprisal, highlighting the varied ways in which individuals confront and overcome the darkness that seeks them out in the night.
(Vincent's odd encounter(SRAlexander):SRAlexander)
[Fri May 17 2024]
In the prettily-decorated fourthbedroom of Repentance House
Uniform in size with its counterparts, this bedroom is an oasis of calm, where azure blue and white dominate the decor. The walls, a soft white, are brought to life by accolades and photographs of scholar achievements. A window trimmed in azure blue drapes allows for a view that, while unremarkable, is suffused with daylight that accentuates the crisp, white bedding of the full-sized bed against the far wall.
The bed itself is an embodient of understated elegance, its whinte linens pristine and smooth, detailed with delicate azure embroidery that echoes the house's colors. Above it, white fairy lights offer a subtle luminescence, casting a soft academic glow over the adjacent study nook. Here, a white desk stands, organized with academic texts and a sophisticated computer setup for heavy coding and gaming.
It is night, about 66F(18C) degrees, There is a waxing gibbous moon.
(Your target is possessed by an angry spirit that is forcing them to act out and putting themselves and/or others at risk. They must either defeat it or find a way to calm it down.
)
There is a chill in the air tonight. Despite the summer heat, there is a noticable drop in temperature this evening. Almost pleasantly so. As Vincent was discussing with his friend about the finer points, something has come to Vincent, a quiet tickle down his spine, and an unsettling sensation in the back of his head.
From his bundle of blankets while sitting on the bed Vincent shivers ever slighy as he pulls the blankets closer to him as he discusses the gossip while rubbing his hands together under the coverings. "Who turned on the conditioner this much." The blonde complains as he shivers slightly before sliding over to the edge of the bed to stake a stand.
Vincent says "Doesn't feel cold... huh."
And as Vincent stands he finds himself abruptly walking to the door, opening it, and stepping into the hall. It's strange. But...wait. No. Not this is perfectly alright, and natural. The hallway extends and he sees the stairway down. Obviously, he begins to walk towards it, right?
Vincent feels a prickling icy sensation on the back of his mind as some force begins manipulating his reasoning.
With blinking eyes Vincent looks where is standing. "Huh." Vincent says in a mummer before shacking his head as he stands in the hallway. "I.. am going to check if someone.. as turned up the air conditioner." The teen says more to himself.. even if that contradicts his comment before... to explain away the reason he moved towards the hall, as he looks to the stairway and nods his head as he makes his way with the blanket warped around him making a tail on the flor as he heads towards the stairway shivering ever slightly.
With slow steady steps Vincent hazily finds himself moving down the hallway with the blanket around him. The presence becomes more perceptible as the grip increases. Less, does Vincent feel like he is simply being direct and more, he finds his limbs being moved independantly, towards his own room.
Closing his eyes for perhaps just a moment Vincent then opens them, to see his door blinking slightly in confusion at wooden door as he tugs at the blankets closer to his body shivering slightly as turn his head slightly to look behind him, before turning to place a hand on the door knob to enter his him.
Closing his eyes for perhaps just a moment Vincent then opens them, to see his door blinking slightly in confusion at wooden door as he tugs at the blankets closer to his body, shivering slightly as turn his head slightly to look behind him, before turning to place a hand on the door knob to enter his room. (fixed)
Vincent begins to move into his room. He begins to look to rifle through his belongings, his shelf. He's looking for something, he's not sure what. "What is your weapon?" a voice booms within his head. Indistinct, deafening nearly.
With a slight jump Vincent scans his room in a hurry, the blanket falling to the floor as he glances at the door. "Oh.. god it's like the little girl all over again." He hisses his teeth tightly pressed together as he drags a bag from under his bed. "This is where I left it." He sighs in relief as he grabs the hilt of the steel rapier
"Oh good," The voice seems pleased and some of the tensions in Vincent's body relaxes. "I have someone I am going to have you murder, comply and we'll be done soon," it informs him matter-of-factly. No longer as booming within his skull.
Vincent looks around the room pointing his rapier around. "Who the hell are you and why are you in my room." He says in his posh accent, attempting to put on his best war face, not very intimidating but attempts to be as he does a little swish in the air.
Vincent finds himself taking a step. "Irrelevant, move, and do not fight me. Go to the main road." It insists, a pain in his skull beginning to throb some
Scanning around the room as if expecting any moment for someone to jump out from a wall, Vincent then speaks aloud, "Am familiar with this supernatural stuff now, your using.. mind magic on me.. that makes sense.. yes." Vincent nods to himself, as he slowly routes around the room sword out, standing in the center his knuckles white betraying his fear, as he clutches his head with his free hand from the pain. "Ugh-h." He says in the wince of pain. "W-Why would I do that!" He says placing perhaps an over touch defiance in his tone to mask other emotions.
There's a brief pause. Then the throbbing pain redoubles. "Because, if you refuse me, I'll cause one of the veins in your brain to burst, causing you to bleed out in about a minute!" It roars, a bellowing voice. "Now move! Kill him! Or die! And I'll make someone else do it!" The voice insists to Vincent.
Vincent almost fall down, catching himself as he stands up though a bit wobbly on his feet as while hugging his head with both hands. "Fine-Fine." The blonde responds seemly that threat working quite effectively as he makes his way in something between jogging and a run to leave the college and head into the main road. "Why.. do.. you.. want.. me.. to.. kill.. someone." Vincent says between breaths as he makes his way towards the road.
"Because they've got it comin'. Fucker shot me," the ghost explains. "So now I want him to get his, got it?" The voice insists as he begins to make his way willingly the power receeds some, leaving his body more under his own control.
Vincent runs a hand though his hair groaning slightly as he moves across the campus with a sword, hopefully it's a slow night. "Who.. and who are you.. and why are you speaking in my head.. and what kind of magic are you using to control me?" Vincent asks one after another before then pausing and speaking again. "-wait.. I have never killed anyone.. am not a murder." Vincent says while seemly slowing down some, perhaps to buy himself more time?
"Well you have no choice, I am controlling you," the voice insists as Vincent feels a prickling in his brain and a compulsion to pick up his pace. "So, it's not your falt."
"Oh.. this is some type of supernatural assassinations using some poor sob with mind magic." Vincent says aloud seemly convinced of that idea as he /attempts/ to fight compulsion still heading towards the road though. "They shot you... where are you?" He asks.
Vincent finds himself...able to slow the motion of his body and even fight, the throbbing returns, intense, and painful. "How -dare- you!" The voice insists, fury growing.
Vincent groans slightly as he uses both hands to warp around his head. "How /dare/ you." Vincent says back to the ghost. "My body, my choice, ever heard of that you mind control whatever you are.. -excrement- whatever!" Vincent decides to insult as he stumbles towards the road.
Vincent finds as he fights, as the pain increases it reaches a peak and then...begins to receed. "Enough! Enough! Stop! Or I will kill you!" The voice insists to Vincent. "I'll boil your eyes out!" It bellows.
"Who are you and why are you in my head!" Vincent demands as he shakes his head likely almost out of the collage at this point surely, as he walks evenly. "Wait.. how am I going to walk pass the sheriffs office with a sword in my hand.. genius." Vincent scowls in a hissing low tone. "Am moving-am moving..." replies to the eye boiling threat.
The sensation controlling Vincent's limbs all but fades now. "Good!" The voice echoes. It sounds tinny, echoey. Perhaps quieter? To reward Vincent for his good behavior? "You will move quickly," it advises.
"You have yet to answer me.. wait.. you said someone shot you.. and I have a rapier..." Vincent grumbles aloud, as he scans the corner ducking as he moves close to the wall, and below the windows of the sheriff office near the college entrance as he shifts forward while attempting to stay out of view. "Wait.. voice in my head.. that can control body.. who says they have been shot..." Vincent mummers seemly some puzzle being solved in that mummer.
"I don't care how you fucking kill him!" The voice commands. "The sword is fine! Go fucking stab him!" It bellows.
Vincent now at the main road he shakes his head. "Well... so your a ghost.. I was also warned about this possibility.. can you even do any of those things?" He questions aloud.
"Excuse me? You want me to prove that I can kill you!?" It demands in a loud booming voice, though, softer now. "Of course, I am in your mind! I control all!" it insists.
"Well.. no.. their is no need of that." Vincent grumbles softly. "Though are you making threats you can't really prove.. and if you did who would kill them then huh?" Vincent then insists in turn. "Why are you not some normal ghost and haunt them?" The blonde says in a irate tone as he just stands their in the roadway, not really knowing where to go from their anyways, unless the ghost is leading?
Vincent receives a joly of pain in his brain. The impulse leads him through the streets if he obeys it, winding slowly. "I want this fool to receive his death at the hands of another!" The voice insists.
"I don't want to be a murderer!" Vincent cries out in protest as he groans in pain as he move along the street yelling loudly and brandishing a sword in the streets. "Can you pick someone else?"
Vincent might have realized that...the pain seems to be growing less some time. "Oh, you'd rather make someone else do my dirty work? Perhaps a child then!" The voice cajoles him.
Vincent then stops suddenly as he rubs his head. "I am doubting your powers are more then beyond giving a headache... can you even exit me.. bet your too weak to do that as well.. I bet the wind pushed you to the college somehow.. I don't know how ghosts work." The blonde says aloud squinting as he looks around where he currently is, seemly to figure out where he is headed towards. "Maybe the hangovers with those bowl of mist is proving helpful.. nothing could be worse then that." Vincent mummers aloud to himself.
The spirits roars in fury. At the rebuke he finds the presence suddenly...vanish! Hm! Perhaps it was his sharp will, the y oung mans steely resolve! Or...perhaps his slow meandering complaints finally wore down the spirits....spirit? Well, suffice to say, this hero has defeated this dangerous ghost through a series of malicious compliances! And finds himself suddenly, freed. Though a lingering headache is a scar of his adventures.
Vincent rubs his head after.. whining, complaining, and just being a pain to whatever thing that possessed his body, away perhaps, who knows. "Really... am in middle of the street with a sword in my hand after running though town talking to myself." Vincent groans aloud as he runs a hand though his hair. "I hate the states, and this town, and this collage." Vincent decides to complain to no one as he rubs his head. "I need a drink."
(Your target is attacked by a lone vigilante, maybe someone they've wronged in the past or someone just out to get all supernaturals. They need to defeat their enemy or survive for long enough that their allies can come help them.
)
The waxing moon lights up the night sky, glowing over the sleepy or not so sleepy town of Haven. A cloud drifts over the pale orb as a lone wolf's howl echos through the early hours of the morning. A lonely cry, it hangs in the air, unanswered, unreturned. The clouds bring darkness to the lonely town. The alleys are darker without the guidance of the lunar caress. The shadows deeper. The night colder.
In the shadows, deep within an alley in the middle of Haven, two pairs of sinister eyes meet each others. One pair scared with a cut directly across the eye. Ice blue eyes stare out from over balaclava. They belong to a man whose body was built like an fighter. Honed by time spent at the gym. Jailhouse tattoos cover the pair of arms exposed by a single kevlar vest. The pair that meets his is brown. Bland. The eyes of someone who didn't really want to be there but forced to perhaps due to honor... or due to threats. There are quiet... hushed whispers in the night.
"Are ya sure *he's* here?" Brown eyes wanted to know. He was dressed all black with a wiry body that belonged to someone that belonged more behind a desk then behind the pistol he was loading at that moment.
"We got some pretty good intel that he's here. Injured. All helpless like." The blue eyed man's voice is more gruff, harsh, filled with hatred and anger.
"Well..." The safety clicks as brown eyes checks the chamber before handing the pistol over to the blue eyed man. "He's all yours. I'm just here to provide equipment man. And intel. I'll let you know if I see him on the cameras." Nods are exchanged as brown eyes slinks off into the night.
"Let the hunt begin..." Blue eyes whispers into the night.
Beneath the waxing gibbous moon hanging overhead, just off to the side between the buildings flanking the near-decrepit state of the trash-ridden alleyway, Mikhael hands one hand in his pocket, and his jacket slung over his shoulder. His other hand is illuminated by the light of his cigarette, the smoke and glow trailing along his passing. The silence, in this hour of the night, is broken by that wolf howl - and the hiss of a cat at his back that topples over a garbage bin. Metal rolls with a clunk, but Mikhael doesn't spare it a look, neither over his shoulder nor ahead. His attention is upon his cigarette, another drag, while he moves down the alley that has led him outside of his partment complex.
Far off down the long expanse of the alley is his trusty steed - the porsche that stands imposingly, starkly out of place in the sodden nature of its surroundings. He doesn't quite reach it, not yet. There is a pause to his body, something that knits his brows above the aviator he wears at the wrongest hour of the night when darkness still reigns supreme. Maybe it is his instincts, trained and honed over decades of war - maybe it is something else that raises the hair at the nape of his neck on end, but something feels amiss, he just can't tell what while he casts his gaze forward, and doesn't take another step. Instead, his smoke is sought after - taken from between his lips, tossed onto the floor in casual nonchalance, stepped on to snuff it out while his other hand leaves shis spocket to take the suit jacket draped over his shoulder and hold it. As if he stopped just to extinguish needless poison before he traversed the remaining distance to his vehicle, and nothing more, while he waits.
A shadow grows long at the other side of the alley, splitting away from the wall as Mikhael lowers his jacket. "Well well well.. If it ain't the barghast..." Blue eye's accent is thick with a russian accen tang and a lip curls as the man walks out of the darkness of a recess in the walls. The scar across his left eye is prominant, deep. It carves down his cheek and up to his temple. Muscles ripple on arms designed to fight more physical opponents but it has no trouble holding the pistol, muzzle lengthened by a silencer by his side. "Remember me?" The man snarls, jerking the thumb of his free hand across the scar on his eye. "I heard ya a cripple now. Nothing but a corpse that doesn't know he's dead yet." The man spits on the ground on the other side of the porche. The poor innocent car standing between the two men.
Perhaps Mikhael didn't expect to hear that moniker here. Not yet, anyway, not before it had a chance to spread by word of mouth. Yet, while he keeps his head low, his eyes angle upward over his sunglasses to peer forward at the voice calling for him at his behest. Brief bit of red flashed, nothing more, veiled - but he's not moving beyond drawing his leg back, roll the cigarette upon the pavement as crushed as it is. The initial reply is a broken, russian insult speared under his breath while that shaded gaze drifts towards the pistol his sudden adversary holds, and his head tilts for it. Just slightly askew.
"Yeah, I remember you." Whatever recognition there may be, it isn't in his expression, but he elaborates. "I guess its hard to put down a cockroach - we must be of a similar breed. " The notion of being dead, however, has him smirk. It's too wide, too pristine as he takes a step forward, then another, a slow canter leading him forward down the allley while he swings his jacket back up over his shoulder with the raw confidence of a man that has a gun pointed at them. "How's your family, Yuri? Does your brother still walk with a limp?"
A snarl is the response he gets to his taunt. Ice blue eyes stare at him from a face filled with an expression of hatred. The man's teeth are crooked and his lips are drawn back in a snarl. "My brother is waiting for your head to land on his plate." He spits again, "He said you can't even kill him right." His eyes swing to the car still situated between them. The gun lifts, muzzle pointed towards the shiny porche. "I should shoot your toy full of holes. But that wouldn't be as satisfying when I take the keys from your dead body and drive out of this shitholl with your head in the boot."
His thick combat boots crunch on the trash on the ground as he takes a step forward too, pointing the nose of the gun straight at Mikhael. "Not another step closer gunho." He sneers, spit flying in goblets from his spat words. "I wanna be able to watch your eyes when you crumble to the ground."
In spite of the snarl, Mikhael hadn't stopped. No, the taunt only elevated his mood, something to the air, the promise of violence lends a subdued elegance to his expression, those near perfect, sculptued features warped in a keenly disturbing, muted pleasure evident in only the small haunt of a smile at the edge of his lips. It is sick, twisted, yet contained as if to impose as much fury in his adversary as he inhumanely could while he speaks to interrupt -- but pauses. His parted lips are silent, so is his trajectory towards the car halted at Yuri's gun now being directed at it.
"You want what's mine?"
A total absence of mirth, amusement, and all things together while his head tilts slowly, uncannily. He's not just a mere man walking down the desolate alleyway here, he is a creature of it, in that very moment. Just as wicked as every insect that crawls in its deep recesses. Against the threat, he takes but one step forward -- and disappears entirely from view like he was never even there. All the remnants of his existence is a distraught scent of ash, sulphur and fire as if something just claimed from hell erupted there in a wisp of shadowy mist.
Not even a single breath later, poor, downtrodden Yuri would find Mikhael at his back - his hand seeking the back of his neck, grab with vicious vigor and cruel intent, with a disturbingly vice-like grip that is beyond the measure of any mortal, and even the scope of many creatures of the night. He leads the man exactly to that porsche, straight down the front above the headlights and stain them with blood.
"F-fucker!" The angry shout fills the air as Mikhael just vanishes into thin air and another angry growl sounds as Mikhael grabs the back of the kelvar vest and brings the man's head down straight into the front of the porche. There is the dull clunk of metal as it dents the poor car, staining it with a dripple of blood that looks black in the night.
Another cloud drifts over the moon then as the man's angry breathing is heard just for a single moment before he aims the gun around his side, trying to shoot the demon that had spawned behind him.
The shot rings out immediately. It bites Mikhael in the shoulder, maybe several times across his torso, but the bullet, even bullets are gone - it doesn't come out the other side while all he does is keep the man pressed down against his own stain of blood against the car. One of his leg lifts, shoe pressed above the tire just so he can lean down as streams of red run down across his torso, the white-clad button-up stained a dark shade of red, one that looks just a black under the darkness of the alley where the rising sun to the east is far from reaching here. The jacket slung over his arm is discarded over the car as well, and instead, Mikhael reaches up to his face. His aviators are pulled low, off of his face and tossed aside to bask Yuri in that viciously crimson, blood-red gaze of a monster. "Yuri, I'm going to break your legs before I kill you." He doesn't stop. The dread is thick in the air as he continues to whiper beside the man's ear. "Just so in your last breath your face will look in agony - just so I can mail that expression in a gift box to your family."
Emboldened by the scent of blood in the air, Yuri empties the entire clip wildly, catching another bullet that streaks across Mikhael's side, adding to the holes in the white shirt that is soon to become a crimson visage as the man's blood soaks into the cotton. Nostrils flare as Mikhael delivers his threats and a big, hulking hand throws down the gun to wrap around his wrist. Tattoos cover each finger, spelling out a word about as original as the rest of the man's tattoos. D-E-A-T-H. One letter on each knuckle as his hand closes on Mikhael's wrist and holds on. It looks as if he is trying to dislodge the hand holding the back of his neck but instead there is a howl of anger as Yuri stabs backwards with his other hand - a long dagger made of a gleaming white material - quartz - is clutched in his hand and he clings onto Mikhael's wrist with his other hand, trying to prevent the man from moving away from him.
Distracted, momentarily, by the blood streaming off of him as well as the toss of the gun, Mikhael stares aside at it long enough that his attention lags until his wrist is caught. He stares at the hand like its a minute obstacle, but the sight of something else, the quartz dagger, has him rear away instantly as if burned before the man even touched him. His arm is liberated instantly with that massive strength yanking Yuri off the car and onto the floor on his back as he takes a few steps away, pacing way from him to avoid the one source of every possible ailment. "Yuri, fuck." Exasperated, instantly, he hisses his words. "You don't know what the fuck you're doing, drop that thing right *now*."
Yuri cracks a laugh, a broken laugh that fills the alleyway even as the big man lies on the ground. There is a tear on his forehead where it met the car... but something metallic glints from the wound around the blood. A metal plate installed after his eye was almost gauged out by Mikhael all those many years ago. "So.... The rumours are true." There is a cruel twist to the man's mouth as he turns over on the ground and slowly, painfully gets to his feet. Blood drips down his face, covering half of it in crimson as those hateful ice blue eyes stare out at Mikhael. "Who woulda thought. The barghast would be afraid of crystals?" He laughs, a full on belly laugh that fills the alley even as he raises his other hand to wipe some blood from a split lip. "You want your fortune read? I can do that." His fist tightens on the quartz, blade down so that he can swing it. "I hear quartz is good for refuckingjuventation and revenge." His eyes gleam before he takes a step forward, feinting a swing.
While Yuri gets to his feet, Mikhael takes a moment to compose himself. An inward breath is sighed out, somewhat harshly, but the effects are imminent. His body heals itself, whatever it can, albeit clearly not perfectly. Bullets pop out of the holes in his shirt, clatter to the floor while there is little shift or change in his posture, if only slight exertion that weighs down his gaze. "I'm not-" He has little opportunity to interject the man's monologue, and his approach is met with apprehension. A keen stare of red that trails from the blade, up to Yuri's eyes again while he approaches, and swings..
He turns on a heel, pivots where he is to lean away from the feint.
While Yuri gets to his feet, Mikhael takes a moment to compose himself. An inward breath is sighed out, somewhat harshly, but the effects are imminent. His body heals itself, whatever it can, albeit clearly not perfectly. Bullets pop out of the holes in his shirt, clatter to the floor while there is little shift or change in his posture, if only slight exertion that weighs down his gaze. "I'm not-" He has little opportunity to interject the man's monologue, and his approach is met with apprehension. A keen stare of red that trails from the blade, up to Yuri's eyes again while he approaches, and swings.. And alll Mikhael can do is turn on a heel, pivot where he is and lean away from the feint - a mistake, if there ever was one, judgement clouded by the sight of that long, sharp line of crystal. (fix)
Crooked teeth shows in a sneer as at the change in demenor of the other man at the sight of just a innocent little piece of crystal. Mayhaps he was scared of his fortune being told? Who knows. Victory shines in the ice blue eyes as Yuri goes in for the offensive as Mikhael overbalanced to lean away from his feint. He snarls as he lifts a hand - take a swing at the man's head while bringing the dagger up in a low swing towards Mikhael's stomach.
The lone wolf howls again, it's lonely call echoing through the night as the first rays of the sun reach the still sleepy town.
Had it been anywhere else, maybe Mikhael would've been slower to react. He isn't, not when he aims that thing exactly to his stomach. He's made a poor decision, sure, but it doesn't cloud his actions further than that initial thing. Mistake doesn't breed more, in this instance. His knee shoots up beneath the swing of the dagger, where his focus has always been, to hit it and adjust its trajectory. Send it higher to meet his hand that comes from the side to capture the wrist holding it - while he takes the full brunt of that strike to his head. It tilts his head, but it returns quickly, gaze leveled and peering upon Yuri, followed by a short eruption of a growl from his throat, stifled while he puts his whole strength, unrestrained, upon the wrist he's caught to twist and break it.
The wolf's howl is returned by the howl of pain as a loud crack echos in the deserted alleyway as Yuri's wrist breaks. The dagger is dropped, clattering to the ground between the two men's feet. "Fuuuuuuuckkkk you!!" Yuri screams as his hand is held in Mikhael's in that awkward position that puts strain on the rest of his shoulder. His left arm swings again, smashing into Mikhael's face almost futilely as if hitting a wall. "I am going to shove that dagger up your ass you asshole!!!" His voice rises in a howl from the pain as he tries to wrench his arm away from Mikhael.
As Mikhael keeps that arm, keeps applying the pressure, his other hand lifts just as Yuri's arm swings again. He catches that too by the wrist, turns and twists for the same effect of a horrendous crack. "You stupid, fucking bastard." The still exasperated hiss is a modicum more relieved that the dagger is gone, now, dropped down on the ground between them. He takes a step, presses the heel of his shoe over it - and since his assailant is out of arms, he releases Yuri with a shove that's intent on sending him down upon the ground on his back. "Do you have *any* idea what you're doing, waving that fucking thing around?"
Another crack. Another howl that fills the alleyway with anguish. Suffering that brings Mikhael no ends of pleasure and lifts his mood like nothing else. Nothing better than an early morning snack of the most delicious suffering a man could ungo. The russian thug is thrown away like discarded scraps onto the floor of the alley, his face sliding along the gravel, the cigerette butt that Mikhael discarded early tangling in the man's brown hair. "I'm here to fucking kill you!" Is still the howl from the floor as the man scrambles away, crawling with the power of his legs against the ground. "It clearly fucking works. I have a man, with one of those tips on the head of an arrow trained on you right now!" A bluff? Or was it? It's hard to tell as pathetic whimpers fill the alleyway from the man trying desperately to wriggle away.
"Do you now?" Mikhael fixes his attire a little. A short is given while he stares at Yuri crawl away. His hand runs through his hair to brush disarrayed strands back in order, out of his gaze. "Alright." And he does something extremely, incredibly reasonable. He turns to his car, opens the driver's door, and slips in to shut it with a bang. Past the black-tinted windows, it isn't clear what he intends to do, but the engine purrs alive not long after, and he beginss to pull out of the alley.
Not for very long, though. The wheels turn, shift his direction, and he starts to very slowly drive forward once more - straight onto Yuri's legs where the running vehicle stops as soon as the wheels exert their weight onto the legs, and continue to do so with the handbrake pulled up. When the window cracks, just a little, just enough, his voice comes through it. "You have until you bleed out to tell me where."
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!!!" The cries of frustration fill the alleyway as Mikhael gets into his car and there is a sortof desperation in the air as someone uses his elbows and his knees to crawl backwards while keeping an eye on the rumbling porche. Clearly have a face sized dent on the hood doesn't impact the way the machine runs as with a hungry growl of the engine Mikhael crushes the man's leg underneath it. Suffering fills the alleyway. Fills the city really, giving all those sensitive to it a early shot of morning caffeine. "Fuck you Bharghast!!" Is the last howl as Yuri manages to crawl all the way back to where is gun was. Shakey hands reload as the man's blood spill onto the street, crushed by the 2 ton vehicle and a bullet splinters the windscreen. "You get to fucking die with me!" Is the last howl as shots reign from the front of the car where he lay.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck!!!" The cries of frustration fill the alleyway as Mikhael gets into his car and there is a sortof desperation in the air as Yuri uses his elbows and his knees to crawl backwards while keeping an eye on the rumbling porche. Clearly have a face sized dent on the hood doesn't impact the way the machine runs as with a hungry growl of the engine Mikhael crushes the man's leg underneath it. Suffering fills the alleyway. Fills the city really, giving all those sensitive to it a early shot of morning caffeine. "Fuck you Bharghast!!" Is the last howl as Yuri manages to crawl all the way back to where is gun was. Shakey hands reload as the man's blood spill onto the street, crushed by the 2 ton vehicle and a bullet splinters the windscreen. "You get to fucking die with me!" Is the last howl as shots reign from the front of the car where he lay.
If Mikhael is at all composed, it has to be because of the pain. Still, steel nerves disallow any rapture, and he avoids sinking into the depths of it with control and composure. Even if he entertains the scent of it in the air like fine wine. The bullets ringing out through the windshield has Mikhael shift the stick again and pull back, off those broken, crushed legs and a few paces ahead further into the alleyway while his hand reaches into his pocket in search of his phone. Barely a few presses, barely any wait, and someone picks up on the other side. "Stop what you're doing, there is someone I want you to collect." A few words, buzzed under the din of all that noise outside, the screams and the suffering-laced agony, replies in the affirmative. "There. Yes. Yuri." He continues to sparsely explain, but it is evident that he's talking to an underling or another. "Keep him out of town for a few days - then package him neatly. You know who to send his head." Past his words, a few words of Russian exchanged in farewell, he shuts the phone, prepared to take off, and leave poor Yuri to his fate.